


Blood and Wine

by Hanatamago



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Bloodplay, Breathplay, Enthusiastic Consent, Light Bondage, M/M, PWP, Pain Kink, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28203183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanatamago/pseuds/Hanatamago
Summary: After Zagreus chooses Dionysus over Ares in a Trial of the Gods, Dionysus decides some reconciliation is in order. Ares just wants to spill some blood. Both get their wish.
Relationships: Ares/Dionysus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 167





	Blood and Wine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sundreigon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundreigon/gifts).



Ares knew the second Dionysus stepped into his domain. An unsettling air of horrible, joyous leisure seeped into the air. The stench of wine hit his divine senses hard - not unwelcome, but certainly out of place in his temple of steel and bronze. Ares gazed down at his prized machete, counting his last, precious moments of weapon maintenance before the drunkard found him and broke his meditative silence.

“Hey Ares, life got you down?”

And there he was. Ares did not respond to the tittering fool at first, but he tracked every step along the stone tiles. Dionysus would not strike him, but his defensive instincts remained alert at all times. Surely, the drunkard could not relate. He focused on his machete, slowly running his polishing cloth along the length of the blade.

About that business earlier - Zag picking me over you,” Dionysus encroached upon his blessed personal space, leaning carelessly onto the weapons table. “Now, I know your _thing_ and all, ‘fight your way out of certain death and we’re cool again’ - same as my thing, but with a little more death, of course - but you’ve never been the type to let things go _that_ easily. It’s gotta really piss you off, yeah?”

“He fought his way past my trial. As stated, I harbor no ill will.”

“You and not holding a grudge - name a less iconic duo!” Dionysus laughs, “Damn, did Demeter switch the seasons again too? Well, if it makes any difference, Zag tossed me aside for Aphrodite’s blessings later on anyway, so I can’t say too much. He’s got a type, that’s for sure, that is _for sure_.”

Dionysus stepped behind him, gazing over his shoulder. Well, his gaze may have idly flicked over the masterwork weapons laid out over the table, but the Ares knew with certainty that the drunkard hadn't come to peruse weapons. Dionysus’ boozy breath drifted over his neck, tickling the shell of his ear.

“And sure, she’s charming and all,” he prattled on insufferably, “but there’s no mystery there, right? No armor to chip at. Not like you, Lord Ares the Endlessly Brooding.”

“If you wish to chip at my armor, then you will need a mightier weapon than wine.”

“Hah, oh, good one,” Dionysus chuckled, “Well, maybe I’m just trying to cast it off.”

Ares’ composure wavered, but it did not break. He pushed the fool up against a marble column, harsh but controlled in his godly strength. Dionysus moved with him, not bothering to resist at all, even when the stone roughly hit his back. Ares leaned in. Sweet nectar and toasted spices assaulted his senses, clouding around the two as Dionysus smirked. Ares grit his teeth. He was no simple mortal weak enough to be tempted by godly delights. He was no vapid god either, prey to the drunkard’s charms.

“Tell me, why have you come?” Ares rumbled. His tone stayed even despite Dionysus’ inane attempts to throw him off-kilter, “Have you developed an unlikely, yet admirable interest in my divine weapons? Or are you merely trying to get yourself hurt?”

“Caught me.” Dionysus winked. He coiled his arms around the war god’s waist, pulling them flush together. Silky chiffon robes caught between the rough plates of his armor, shiny and flimsy under his hardened steel.

Ares’ eyes darkened.

It was a dangerous game, the one Dionysus teased at engaging him in. Not as refined as war, but bloody and carnal nonetheless. The ichor in his veins flared searing hot and heady as he toyed with the idea of _really_ punishing his transgressions. Ares’ hand slid up his throat, delighting in how Dionysus’ topaz skin heated beneath his touch. It would tear, too, if he...

“Hey, tell you what, you can mess me up a bit. I don’t mind, babe, I’m plenty into that kind of thing, ” Dionysus purred, “Say, I’ll even let you ride my cock after.”

Ares’ fist clenched shut, pressing all of the air out of the wanton slut’s lungs. Dionysus gasped breathlessly beneath his hold, eyes tilting back in pleasure as his pulse soared. His hands shot up to wrap around Ares’ wrist, torn between pulling his hand away and pressing it further in. He _wanted_ it - why, Ares’ couldn’t say, but the flutter in those deep violet eyes of his was unmistakable. 

Ares wanted it too. 

He loosened his grip, hand still firm over Dionysus’ throat. The wine god sputtered and coughed for air. Perhaps his delicate lungs were freed, but his throat remained pinned under Ares’ hold. A cold iron chain sprung from his other palm, simmering with harsh energy. The chain cried out with excitement, begging to lash at Dionysus’ skin.

Each link of the blessed weapon hungered for pain. And each weapon was merely an extension of the war god himself. Where the drunkard drowned himself in thoughtless pleasures and liquid ecstasy, Ares’ desires were more base still. He craved wrath. He absolutely _lusted_ for it - for the most primal urge to spill blood and feel the brand of violence searing against his flesh. Even the most wanton of gods would turn at his unrestrained carnage.

Ares caged his desire in refinement. He dressed his wrath up in the accoutrements of war, in the facade of honor and the chase of victory. He bound Dionysus’ wrists above his head, tight enough that the iron would bite and prickle at his smooth, infuriatingly unmarred skin.

Perhaps he would be the first to mar it. The gods’ divine bodies healed easily enough.

“Kinky,” Dionysus winked. 

And Dionysus begged to be broken. As the god of wine and revelry, his idle leisure was the very antithesis of war - his skin had no occasion to ever harden into calluses or shatter into silver scars. But Ares would break it. Oh, his knives would bathe in ichor, a fine enough substitute for mortal blood. 

“That a hedonist like you would crave pain… Most intriguing,” Ares chuckled darkly, “Perhaps I should not be surprised. Fools often crave their own destruction. How quickly will you come apart at my hands, I wonder?”

Dionysus’ lazy grin broke into a laugh at that. “Oh man, you wanna suck my cock so fucking bad, don’t you? All right, all-”

Ares tangled a fist in his hair, forcing him down to his knees. He winced as he landed hard, pitching forward until Ares shoved him back against the column.

“Unwise of you to test me, _harlot_.” Scarlet fire flared brightly in his eyes, his temper simmering ever higher, threatening to boil over. But then, Dionysus knew the danger. And he prodded anyway. So why should Ares restrain himself at all? He bore no responsibility for the fool’s safety. The other gods could hardly judge him for such just punishment...

“Can’t tell me you’re not tempted,” Dionysus hummed, “I can feel your lust, you know. So how about you just pull that thing out and I’ll show you a good time, hm?”

“If you feel anything, it should be an overwhelming sense of danger.” Ares scoffed. “But I suppose your shamelessness also leaves you deaf to fear.”

But despite himself, Ares relented. He dropped his heavy pteruges to the stone tiles below, drawing himself out.

“Woah, man, now that is-” Dionysus laughed, “Aphrodite really didn’t lie, did she? Poor Hephaestus.”

“Silence,” Ares snarled. 

He tightened his fist in the drunkard’s coarse hair and yanked him forward. A wonderful shock of pain shot through his scalp, singing out to Ares godly senses. Dionysus eagerly wrapped his lips around Ares’ cock, messy but enthusiastic. He ran his tongue along the length, humming happily as Ares guided him to take it deeper and deeper. Dionysus surged forward, swallowing him to the root, and he winked, smug and teary-eyed as Ares’ cock throbbed on his tongue.

Ares groaned, bracing himself against the column. Hah, but only such a wanton drunk would have such practiced skills, would they not? Even Aphrodite, master of the erotic, was _sensuous_. Dionysus blew Ares like he did anything - loud, vulgar, and messy. But _Styx_ , it felt just as good.

“I must say, I find you much more tolerable this way.” Ares murmured. Dionysus tilted his head back, but Ares’ grip only tightened, forcing Dionysus to choke on his cock. His violet eyes clouded over in a haze of breathless lust. Dizzying thrill sparked in the wine god’s chest, bright as a scarlet torch to Ares’ senses. And oh, it was _tempting_ to keep him there, to watch him struggle for air as though crushed between the walls of shields of mighty phalanx units.

But Ares had other ideas too. He let up, allowing Dionysus to pull back and gasp for breath. Saliva leaked messily from his lips. Cloudy eyes fluttered as he lapped at the head of Ares’ cock, roaming languidly around Ares’ muscular form. His gaze was mischievous. Predatory, even. As though he were the fearsome wolf and not the bound, helpless sheep. 

Dionysus looked every bit a debauched whore - puffy, spit-slick lips, a drunkard’s flushed cheeks, and a shamelessly obvious tent in his silk chiton. And yet, he still felt so infuriatingly powerful on his knees, as though _he_ was in control, not Ares. For whatever reason, the Fates, fickle as they were, cast him as the god of wine when he would fit so much better as the god of harlots.

“Pathetic,” Ares murmured. Dionysus laughed and pulled back.

“Come on man, can you really enjoy yourself with all that posturing? Seems uncomfortable. Relax a little, would you?” And before Ares could respond, the whore’s mouth was on him again, swallowing him down like a particularly strong cask of wine - or something stronger, perhaps. Something that might sate even the insatiable god himself.

For what little it was worth, his thirst sated Dionysus plenty well enough too. Perhaps he had Aphrodite to thank for that. Ares may have been a brute, but he was not so daft as to miss Dionysus’ lewd implications that the two had teamed up to meddle in his affairs. Really, he should be more concerned about what surprises the mischievous goddess might have in store - what dangerous games _she_ might be playing - but it was exceedingly difficult to parse such tactics when one’s mind was clouded with cresting pleasure. _Blood and-_

“Enough,” Ares spat, forcing Dionysus’ sinful mouth away. For all of his earlier concessions, Ares would not let Dionysus find his misguided victory so easily. The drunk simply leaned back against the column, smirking as though he were lounging on a plush chaise.

Boiling ichor and flames of wrath licked under Ares’ burnished skin, begging to be freed - begging to tear into the smug bastard kneeling beneath him. In that moment, nothing would have sated his bloodlust more than carving stinging lines into his flesh and quenching his thirst on the wine god’s ichor. Taunting amethyst eyes glittered with mirth, goading him on.

Perhaps Aphrodite knew better how to please any mortal or god in all the planes, but it was Dionysus who was an expert in playing upon his rage. He insisted upon dragging Ares to indulgent feasts - inviting him as a guest of honor though his presence only ever unsettled his crowds of partygoers. He knew just how to aim his little jests to make Ares’ skin crawl, to make his hands itch to spill blood. Dionysus’ blood. 

Still… For however much Dionysus tempted his wrath, Ares would not throw all caution to the wind. To truly, irreparably hurt the wine god would be unwise if Ares had any wish for this odd situation to repeat itself. Which…

Ares should not have cared if Dionysus saw fit to trespass into Ares’ temple again. He should not have cared if Dionysus knelt before him again, or if he never set foot in the temple again. It was his own foolish prerogative, for whatever mysterious reasoning he had. Though, knowing Dionysus, Ares should not have suspected any reasoning at all. But perhaps they were similar in that regard - both base, instinctual creatures. Nevertheless, Ares hesitated.

“Performance anxiety?” Dionysus smirked. “Hey, I know this isn’t your domain and all, but no need to be nervous with me, OK? Why don’t you let me give you a little something, huh?”

Ares no longer felt the need to hesitate.

“You truly mean to test me,” Ares snarled. Whatever snarky filth might have left his mouth next was muted under Ares’ firm grasp around his throat. He wrenched the tempestuous wine god away from the column, shoving him down on the straw mats of his training grounds. Thundering rage pulsed through his chest as Dionysus laughed breathlessly. The drunkard rolled onto his back, staring up at Ares with mischievous heat in his gaze.

It was nothing more than a game to him either, was it? A conquest of pleasure - a challenging trial like any other.

“Well, now, looks like you’re finally getting the hang of this, then?” Dionysus grinned. “Go nuts, man. Seriously. You could stand to let out a little steam, am I right, or am I right?”

The war god huffed and paced over to his weapons table as Dionysus squirmed in his bonds. He needed something sharp… His amber skin simply begged to be torn into, and Ares simply would not deny his thirst any longer. Not for Dionysus’ benefit, and certainly not for any failing facade of civility.

The falchion would be too long and too unwieldy up close. Daggers were favored for short-range combat, but pah - little knives were best suited for whores, assassins, and ceremonial priests. They, too, sometimes wielded their wrath as a weapon, but the battlefield they fought on was one of winding streets and treacherous political machinations. There was nothing Ares cared for less.

Ares scanned the assortment of divine weapons laid across his table. The claws, perhaps… Yes, yes, they would do nicely. Ares took the gauntlets in hand, reveling in their wonderfully savage design. Razor-sharp talons extended from each finger, begging to rip and tear and _shred_ its victims to bits. They were hardly practical for the battlefield, particularly with the mortal’s advances in armor, but Ares would still very much like to meet and eternally reward the great human soul who first thought of such a weapon. He donned the claws. And after a brief moment’s consideration, he cast off the rest of his plated armor as well.

“I must wonder if you know just how reckless this little game of yours was.” Ares knelt over him, straddling his thick bronze thighs. “If not, I assure you, you will soon learn.”

His claws sunk into the flimsy fabric of his chiton, shredding the lilac silk over his skin as Ares dragged the knives down his chest. Dionysus winced under the blades, yelping in shock. The bright, intoxicating taste of pain flooded Ares’ senses. He had only just begun, and already Dionysus’ body sang so beautifully for him. Blush-pink lines bloomed in the wake of his knives.

Ah, but they healed too quickly. Dionysus was a god, after all.

“Ah, shit, man…”

Ares leaned down, closing the distance until their faces were but a blade’s width apart. A wolfish grin spread across his face as the wine god shivered.

“Perhaps I should ‘give you a little something’?” he growled. “Isn’t that why you’ve come to pester me?” One clawed hand dug into Dionysus’ chest, bestowing an arc of sharp starbursts across his skin. Dionysus writhed - in pain, Ares thought, but he was mistaken. He squirmed upwards to connect Ares’ lips with his own in a strained kiss. 

Ares nearly laughed aloud.

Ares drove his claws in deeper, tearing deep, wicked lines down his twisted lover’s chest. And when Dionysus cried out, the war god captured his beautiful, pained noises in a harsh, biting mockery of a kiss. Was this what he wanted? Was this what he had imagined when he carelessly sauntered into Ares’ temple? Thick golden ichor seeped from the wounds, coating his fingertips in divinity.

The frenzy of war sparked in his bleeding chest, stirring his languid blood into a whirling storm of bloodlust. Ares’ blessing hardly had any effect on the god in comparison to the utterly complete control it had over simple mortals, but Dionysus bent to his will, if only slightly. Crimson fervor sparked in his hazy eyes as he seemed to lean into the gauntlets’ kiss of steel.

“Much better,” Ares rumbled. He dragged his teeth down Dionysus’ neck, tracing a cruel path to his bleeding wounds. Ares lapped at the honeyed ichor spilling from his slashes. It was far more intoxicating than any simple refreshment Dionysus could muster. It was heavenly - it was _rapturous_ , even.

The sweet, luscious blood danced on his tongue, boozy with Dionysus’ spirit and sharp with the exquisite taste of his pain. Ares pushed the shredded remains of his chiton aside, baring his body in full. If the ichor had not been enough to sate Ares’ hunger, then the view beneath him would surely have sufficed. Dionysus shuddered under his gaze, flushed and painfully hard despite Ares’ cruelty.

“ _Styx_ , man…” Dionysus moaned, rutting uselessly into the gap between his hips and Ares’ looming form. Perhaps a more merciful god would have granted the harlot some friction - some small relief from his aching arousal, but Ares was not known for his mercy. Dionysus had set the rules, and Dionysus would suffer for his hubris.

Ares licked into the cuts on his abused chest, setting the lacerations alight with stinging pain once more. Dionysus cursed, but oh, he took it so terribly well. The pain did not dull his arousal, but instead, it heightened it. Ares hummed his approval and stroked over the healing wounds. Whether he loathed it, whether he loved it - Ares would not have cared either way. It was Dionysus who dared disturb the war god in his own domain. He would take his owed spoils one way or the other. 

Though, secretly, Ares was relieved to see that Dionysus teetered closer to loving his torment than loathing it. His ichor may not have held the desperation and fear of the mortals’ iron blood, but it sated his thirst well. And besides that, his pain sang far louder than any mortal’s. Dionysus would not break so easily. Why, it seemed he would not break at all! Despite himself, Ares felt a giddiness at that. He had all of eternity to play with his lovely new toy. Perhaps not all of eternity, but long enough to indulge himself.

“I should have expected you would enjoy even _this_ depravity.” Ares smirked. Hot spikes of mingled pain and arousal rolled off his mauled body, dulling as divine magic stitched him back together. Dionysus winced as his claws ghosted over his thighs. “Does your perversity truly have no bounds? How contemptible.”

“Hey, you know, I’ll try anything once,” he choked out, “Twice for you.”

“You find me alluring, is that it?” Ares’ ichor-slick hand rested over his pulse, not pressing, but toying with the thought. “Curious that even the god of revelry himself could not sate his own desire.” 

Dionysus’ divine blood thrummed beneath his fingers. His heart raced with the thrill of war - the fear, the adrenaline, the _intensity_ of his wrathful domain. Beneath the wicked chain, Dionysus clutched his wrists tight in a feeble attempt to maintain his composure. A futile attempt, undoubtedly. Aphrodite’s charms were sweet, but Ares knew best how to make a man’s blood boil.

“I think you’re the thirsty one h-here, huh?” he teased, but the stutter in his breath betrayed his airy panache. Ares leaned over him, ravenous. He pressed his knee firmly between the drunkard’s thighs, growling as Dionysus lewdly rolled his hips up against it. A puff of boozy smoke drifted from his mouth, filling the space between them with an air of raucous festivity. “C’mon, give it to me.”

Ares bit a punishing mark into his neck. “I’ll decide what you get, lush.” 

But perhaps he had earned a reward. Ares shed one of his clawed gauntlets. He reached behind himself, slicking Dionysus’ cock with his own ichor. The wine god trembled in his bindings, moaning and reveling in his moment of pure, unpunished pleasure.

“How profane…” Ares scoffed. He dragged his teeth down to Dionysus’ collarbone. Slowly, Ares shifted his hips down, pressing Dionysus’ thick cock against his entrance.

“Fuck, you are _something_ , you know that?” Dionysus mumbled. Ares laughed, an edge of steel prickling in his tone. The war god leaned in, capturing his lips in a filthy, ichor-tainted kiss. Ares’ tongue invaded his mouth on a bloody conquest - all biting and raw force, far more intense than the sloppy fun Dionysus might have preferred.

But Dionysus took it well. Ares pressed back against him, lowering himself until finally, _finally_ Dionysus’ cock breached him. The wine god gasped against Ares’ lips. Dionysus’ cock seared like a glowing brand, tearing into him with no mercy. Ares moaned, deep and lusty and _sated_.

“Woah, did not expect that - guy like you - _shit_ -” Dionysus shivered, cock throbbing inside him, “Ah, you really like that, don’t you? Fuckin’ masochist too; should’ve guessed.” Ares felt his hips tense as he resisted the urge to fuck up into him.

He shouldn’t have resisted. Ares didn’t get on his knees for such loathsome tenderness.

“Fuck me,” he growled, “Unless you’ve lost the nerve.” Dionysus moaned and bucked his hips up, driving his cock another deliciously painful inch farther into him.

“S-so damn tight,” he murmured, “You’re gonna snap my dick off like that, man.”

“Perhaps the other gods would appreciate it if I did.”

Dionysus pouted, but his wounded expression melted as Ares lifted his hips up, then swiftly brought them down again. Molten pain pierced his core, like a million wonderful, whirling blades spinning inside him, shredding him to bloody bits. Stars, it was _perfect_. Ares shuddered as the heavenly pain drowned him in bliss.

“Damn,” Dionysus whispered, “Like that, yeah?” A cloud of boozy smoke drifted up, dancing on the wine god’s words. The noxious cloud wrapped around his shoulders like a plush blanket, draining the tension from his strained muscles. Despite his best intentions, Ares’ body began to relax. His thighs began to feel terribly weak. His mind began to fog. His muscles slowed as the booze swept over him in delightful waves.

Divine wine lit a low fire in his core, warming his chest like a low hearth. Ares gave a half-hearted snarl to voice his distaste, but he could not fight the tingling pleasure spreading through his veins. Suddenly, Dionysus’ hands landed on his hips, guiding his leaden body up and down with each thrust.

Distantly, Ares felt a tinge of frustration that the drunkard had managed to slip out of his iron bindings. Though, he could hardly complain about the results.

Distantly, Ares wondered why he ever objected to Dionysus’ advances.

“Dio-” Ares moaned, “ _Styx_...” He was positively mortified at the drunken slur in his tone. His muscles gave in without a fight, letting himself be pushed and pulled along the thick length of Dionysus’ cock. 

Stars, it was good though… But it was always good with Dionysus, wasn’t it? The other gods seemed to think so, at least. Ares had not fallen prey to his charms firsthand before. It had always taken a very… particular sort to please Ares. But then, pleasure was part of Dionysus’ vast domain.

Low-simmering bliss overtook his senses, cooling the sharp, pounding adrenaline. But blessedly, Dionysus’ aura did not dull his pain. It did not quench his fervor, even if he wobbled in Dionysus’ hands. Heady pleasure bubbled up in his chest. _Styx_ \- he was too intoxicated to even ride Dionysus’ cock straight, and the fool was _smirking_. It should have been humiliating, but there was no disdain in his violet eyes. No judgment, only heated desire and… something far softer. Something Ares couldn’t name.

“Little more relaxed now, aren’t we?” Dionysus hummed. “Been a while for you, am I right? Well, you can always call me if you need a good fuck to set you straight.”

Ares hissed out a curse. But whatever dark intentions he tried to muster, his resolve crumbled as Dionysus thrust up into him. White-hot pleasure threaded through his stomach, threatening to unravel him. Ares moaned and crumbled into him, collapsing onto Dionysus’ chest.

“There, hm?” Dionysus chuckled, earning a weak growl for his snark. Ares’ bit and he clawed and he scratched. He carved his wrathful fervor into the drunkard’s chest, but the relentless pleasure gave him no quarter. Dionysus’ charms flooded his senses with potent liquor and bubbling warmth, but Ares could feel his own influence fraying the wine god’s better impulses too. His sweet ichor thrummed violently in his veins. The warm, careless hold on hips tightened to a bruising grasp. Blunt nails sunk crescents into his burnished skin. 

It was better for the pain. Ecstasy and torment laced together, bringing Ares closer and closer to his peak. Their domains bled so easily into one another - wrath and revelry were merely two sides of the same reckless coin. Bloodthirst and serenity, pain and pleasure - Ares should have given in so long ago. Dionysus unraveled him with his punishing pace. Cresting waves of pain and deep troughs of languid pleasure shattered his resolve. Ares came undone under the chaotic, warring duet.

Dionysus fucked him through the high. Brilliant heat seared under his skin. All that grounded Ares was the soft pulse of Dionysus’ stuttering ichor as he reached his own climax. The heady, sweet taste of wine filled the air, growing ever stronger when Dionysus claimed Ares’ mouth with his own. Disgustingly gentle as the kiss was, Ares was too sated and pliant to bite back. And… perhaps he could excuse the offense this once.

“Feeling all warm and fuzzy?” Dionysus laughed breathlessly. “Yeah, you enjoyed that - and don’t you try telling me otherwise. I know a good time when I see one!”

Grumbling, Ares limply smacked his arm and rolled onto his side. For what exceedingly little credit Dionysus usually deserved, he had certainly exhausted Ares of any trivial, lingering anger over… whatever Ares supposed he had been angered by in the first place. The Olympians were fickle, tempestuous creatures, and he was no exception. But for the moment, Ares lay calm and pacified next to Dionysus, muscles burning with exertion, and mind clear save for the faint haze of a wine-induced buzz.

Dionysus snapped his fingers. The world bent over itself and Ares felt the tile beneath them soften into a pillowy down mattress. Wildflowers drifted along on the breeze, emitting their sickly perfume into the summer glade. Somewhere in the distance, music rang out from the woods as mortals celebrated. Or satyrs, or cultists - whichever fools Dionysus was courting these days. Ares tasted wine and honey on the thick, sweet air. And was that… Sweet buns? He spotted the delicate little puffs of bread on a silver platter by the bedside. 

Ares would absolutely never admit his inclination towards the sugary buns, but his mouth watered at the sight. Dionysus must have known - some damned benefit of his festive aura, no doubt. Though the untested peace of his festive glade was not to Ares’ taste, he could not deny that his body welcomed the plush comfort of his bed. 

Whatever terrible enchantments covered the glade, Ares soon fell prey to their effects. Despite the (albeit quickly healing) ache in his bones, arousal spiked in him again as Dionysus’ arms slid over him.

“My turn,” the wine god hummed. He smirked and slotted himself between Ares’ legs, pressing Ares into the detestably soft silken sheets. Plush lips traced along the carved creases of his muscles.

Ares simply rolled his eyes. But he did not pull away, not even when Dionysus kissed him. Even though the haze had long since faded from his mind, he let Dionysus touch him freely. In this, the drunkard could do no wrong. Though...

“Wait,” Ares murmured. Dionysus cocked an eyebrow.

“Need a second to catch your breath?”

“Hardly.” Ares rolled his eyes. “What are your ulterior motives?”

“Motives, huh?” Dionysus let out a low whistle. He rolled back onto his side and conjured a rolled bundle of herbs from the air. With a flick of his wrist, he set it alight with a conjured spark, then blew away the flame. “You want to talk about that? Of course you do, man, of course you do.”

“Whatever… _tactics_ you have in mind,” Ares’ lips curled into a grimace. To think Dionysus of all people would be playing some sort of political game with him seemed unlikely, but certainly not out of the question on their divine mountain. “Know that I will not be so easily goaded by any carnal offerings of yours.”

“Look, Ares, I could say some shit about how my followers are a little ‘eeehh’ on the war thing down topside. And hey, I’ve gotten plenty of prayers asking for an end to all that shit, so hey, it’s good if I keep you sated, right?” Dionysus shrugged, “But if you’re asking me man to man, and I know a guy like you would ask that, then honestly, I just wanted to see how far I could get with you. Move past the old banter and into something more… tangible.”

Ares scoffed. To think that he was just another one of Dionysus’ pointless conquests - a _challenge_ , even… But why should it hold any weight to him? What should he, god of war, care of the whore’s exploits? And he certainly had no interest in exclusivity. And with Dionysus of all people? Absolutely asinine. Ares himself was just ‘blowing off some steam’, right? Ares snatched away the smoking stub and breathed in its smoke. The curling, intoxicating vapor did little for his feral, bloodthirsty urges, but he could see the appeal in its calming effects.

“But then I got pretty far, didn’t I?” Dionysus leaned in, kissing the little scowl off his lips. “And it was good too, hm? Now that I know what it’s like to fuck you - well, ha, you’re going to have to drive me away.”

“I can think of plenty of ways to drive you away, fool.” Ares snapped, but the heat fizzled out of his voice as Dionysus’ soft hands began to rub teasing little circles into his sides. Atrociously tender, yes, but beneath his palms lay the shadow of beautiful pain. Dionysus picked the blunt out of his hand and took another hit.

“Hey now, don’t go threatening me with a good time!” he laughed. “But seriously, man. We’re a messy bunch, but if you think I’m playing those kinds of games with you, then you may be severely overestimating my planning skills.”

“Hm. You make a fair point. Proceed, then.” Dionysus curled an arm around his waist, pressing the planes of their bodies together. He tossed the blunt back onto the table and leaned in, noxious vapor still light on his breath.

“So what’s it gonna be, then? Do I fuck you until you can’t remember your own name? Or do I ride you until you can’t remember your own name? Both totally fine options.”

“Your turn, isn’t it?” Ares shrugged, “Your choice.” 

Dionysus laughed and leaned in. When the taste of wine filled his mouth this time, he drank it in willingly.

**Author's Note:**

> Behind his façade of nobility, Ares is a Grade A, unhinged psycho, and I am taking no alternate opinions :)
> 
> * * *
> 
> Come say hi on Twitter :)  
> [@hanatamagos](https://twitter.com/hanatamagos)


End file.
